


wreck my plans

by GraceNM



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: But I had fun, F/M, Fluff, POV Frank Castle, Post-Season/Series 02, This is ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28960281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceNM/pseuds/GraceNM
Summary: Frank wants another war? Well, Karen’s giving him one.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page
Comments: 30
Kudos: 80





	wreck my plans

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Willow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RsEZmictANA). Experimenting with Frank POV. Thanks to [Mrs Gordo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsGordo/pseuds/Mrs%20Gordo) for being my first reader!

The first time it happens, he’s outside a shitty warehouse near the docks, expecting to take out a group of lowlife drug traffickers. They’ve gotten swollen heads and itchy trigger fingers as their profits have gone up, and it’s long past time for someone to take them down.

She has the same idea, apparently, because she’s there, too, talking furtively on her phone, pressed up against a building nearby. He’d be glad to see her — no, he _is_ glad to see her, he can’t help that old twist in his gut, or the twitch of his lips — but it’s buried in rage at the thought of those shitheads getting anywhere near her.

He hasn’t seen her, the real her, since that day in the hospital, months ago now, but somehow it’s not a surprise. She echoes in his head. She’s tangled around and woven through his days to the point where she’s kind of always half-there.

He watches as she finishes her call. He doesn’t think he’s close enough for her to spot him, but she looks right in his direction. And then he hears it — sirens, skidding tires. The cops closing in fast.

That’s when she waves.

She fucking waves, and she disappears around the corner. A car engine hums to life.

By the time the cops make it to the scene, they’re both gone.

The shitbags are all arrested. He reads it in the paper the next day.

* * *

The second time, he’s on a rooftop not far from the bus station, lining up a shot into the apartment building next door. There’s a mob guy living there, kinda small-time, but still a cretin worth taking out.

One moment, he’s alone, with even the honks and hollers on the street below muffled by the wind, and the next, she’s right there behind him — arriving so suddenly and so quietly she could only have been hand-delivered by an angel.

Or, he realizes with a grimace, a fucking Devil.

“Warm tonight,” she says, like she didn’t just materialize out of nowhere, like they’re just two idiots making small talk.

“Karen,” he says in response, trying to sound stern. He wishes it didn’t feel so good, just to say her name out loud, to feel the rush of it over his tongue, his lips.

“This view is pretty great.” She walks over until she’s standing next to him and folds her arms across her body, peering into the distance. “From up here...it’s like all those dark corners just make the lights shine brighter.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know what to say at all. Her showing up once could be a coincidence. One of her cases, maybe, or just some business she was sticking her nose into. But this is a targeted strike, no doubt about it. And he’s on the back foot.

“I think we’re about to get a show next door.” She nods in that direction, and Frank watches it unfold like a shadow play. The police spill into the guy’s apartment, and he’s up against the wall getting cuffed.

“You do that?”

It’s a stupid question, because why else would she know it was coming, but she just shrugs. “I think Mahoney got a lead.”

He’s shaking his head at her when he hears a soft sound behind them.

“Oh, I’ve got to go.”

“Your lift’s here?” He should be mad at her for this, for screwing up another of his nights, but his mouth is half-curled up instead.

“Something like that,” she says. “Goodnight, Frank.”

And maybe it shouldn’t, but it feels like one. A good night. Maybe her words are all it takes to make it one.

* * *

By the third time, he has to admit she knows how to pick ’em. She shows up for the shitbags, for the ones that are more principle than anything. The ones that make him weary, that make him wonder if maybe she had a point about there being something else for him.

The worst assholes, she never shows up for those.

He can’t quite figure out _how_ she’s doing it, though. He’s got some contacts she might know, but he’s cut them off now. He hasn’t told a soul about his plans for this hit, but she’s there anyway, about a block away from the place, leaning against her car with a cup of coffee in either hand.

It can’t be that she followed him, because she’s clearly been waiting.

He detaches from the shadows and her lips curve up.

“Did you have trouble finding the place?” she asks. “This might be cold now.”

And this time, he is annoyed, really fucking annoyed, but he takes the coffee anyway.

* * *

After that, he starts to consider that maybe she just understands how he thinks. It’s both touching and disconcerting, the idea of being known. Especially by her. He doesn’t really want her to be able to put herself inside his head. For her sake, even more than his own.

But what he wants for her, and what’s real — those keep being two different things.

* * *

The next time he sees her, it’s morning. She’s sliding in across from him in the booth at the shabby diner he’s been haunting lately.

“Are the waffles good here?” She examines the laminated menu with an almost comical intensity.

“Hell if I know.” He takes a long swallow of his rapidly cooling coffee and signals for more.

“Morning, love,” the waitress says to Karen as she flips over the plain ceramic mug in front of her and fills it.

“The usual?” she asks Frank, and he nods. “Anything for you?”

Karen shakes her head, putting the menu down.

“No waffles?” he asks as the waitress retreats from their table.

“I’m not really here to eat.”

“You gonna tell me why you are here?”

“You haven’t figured that out yet?” She untucks the hint of a smile for him, and he wishes it didn’t make his chest feel so hollow. It seems like that’s all he ever does when she’s around.

Wish.

Not that he does a damn thing about it.

“This is your chance,” she says. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

“Yeah. How’re you getting your intel?”

She shakes her head. “Are you sure that’s your question?”

He looks at her expectantly, not sure what she’s getting at.

“Fine,” she says brightly. “The same way you get yours.”

* * *

He lies low for a while after that. Whether he’s trying to throw her off his scent or whether he’s thinking about something far more serious, he can’t decide.

But before too long, he gets pulled into some shit again, and he doesn’t fight it. He goes out and he takes care of business and it’s easy. Until he wonders if she’ll show up — and then it isn’t so easy anymore.

He doesn’t like this feeling, like he’s missed a turn and ended up somewhere he never wanted to be.

* * *

The last time, he doesn’t see her at all.

He’s bringing some food back to the shithole where he’s crashing these days when he realizes someone’s been inside while he was gone. He goes rigid, but a trace of some sweet scent lingers in the air, and it only takes him a second to know who his intruder was.

There’s a heart drawn in lipstick on his bathroom mirror and he actually grins at that. He can’t help admiring her moxie. That’s an old-fashioned way to put it, but well…

His smile fades, though, when he figures out his vest is missing. _That_ vest.

Then he roars.

* * *

Breaking into his place? Two can play at that game.

* * *

He’s sitting at the old wooden table in her darkened apartment when he hears the key in the door. He watches her come in, watches her realize he’s there. To her credit, she barely startles.

“Hey,” she says casually, flipping on the light.

“Karen, we need to—”

She holds up her hand, cutting him off, and then taps at her phone. “Pizza’s on the way,” she says.

She heads for the kitchen, setting her bag on the table as she passes. “Beer?” she asks as she opens the fridge. She pops the tops off two bottles without waiting for an answer, and carries them both to the living room. “I think there’s a Knicks game starting about now.”

She puts the bottles on the coffee table and sits down on the couch, sliding out of her shoes and fiddling with the remote control.

“You like basketball?” It’s out of his mouth before he even registers that it’s not the question he should be asking, dammit.

“You don’t grow up this tall in the middle of nowhere without playing basketball,” she answers, flipping through the channels. “And once I got to know the game, I appreciated it.”

He’s next to the couch now, his feet carrying him there without conscious permission.

“I like a challenge,” she continues, turning to meet his eyes. “And long shots.”

He gives her a rascally look, but he settles in next to her anyway, even though he knows that’s not why he’s there.

Couldn’t hurt to watch for a bit. Couldn’t hurt to drink one beer. Then he’ll get what he came for and go.

* * *

Watching Karen watch the game is an experience.

She’s mouthy and critical and enthusiastic. Her reactions are physical — you’d think she was the one doing the shooting with the way she tenses and half-rises from her seat. Her disgust with the refs turns her face into a picture, but it’s an even better one when she’s pleased.

“That was a great play,” she says, reaching forward for another slice of pizza. “Too bad you missed it.”

He can’t believe it, but he actually blushes. He’s caught. “Didn’t miss a thing,” he says roughly.

Even after that, he can’t help stealing glances at her as she eats her pizza, as she sips her beer, as she curses at the screen. At some point, he catches himself actually laughing with her. A real laugh — not rueful, not sarcastic. It’s not loud or anything, but it’s there.

The game ends before he even thinks about leaving. And it sounds about as appealing as getting out of a warm bed on a freezing-ass morning.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” she says.

“Karen…”

“Frank.” She cups his cheek, curling her hand so her fingertips graze over his skin. He can’t help it that his eyes close at her touch. “You’re tired and you’re lonely.”

He snaps out of it at that. “I’m not—”

“Don’t deny it. It’s all over your face. And anyway, you’re the one who told me.”

"I told you what?" he asks grumpily.

"All this time, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me to stop interfering. But you haven’t."

"You should stop interfering," he says. But it’s half-hearted, and it only makes her smile.

" _You_ should stay," she says.

And he just does it. He stays.

He stays, and he kisses her like his life depends on it, because he’s pretty goddamn sure it does.

And maybe he’s still scared, and maybe he’s still lost, but when Karen’s next to him, he feels like at least he’s got a map, y’know?

At least he’s got a chance.


End file.
